


neon

by ficfacfoe



Category: UnREAL (TV)
Genre: F/F, Kingsgold
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-10
Updated: 2018-04-10
Packaged: 2019-04-21 06:03:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14278455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ficfacfoe/pseuds/ficfacfoe
Summary: vegas baby!





	neon

**Author's Note:**

> was just casually texting syd about kingsgold as one does and then this happened. thanks syd

 

Vegas.

 

Neon lights and drugs, windows almost as large as Rachel's eyes, Rachel's pupils.

 

Late.

 

Later.

 

Rachel doesn't do cocaine. Cocaine does Rachel, in Vegas.

 

They're staying in a penthouse suite, of course. Go big or go home. And they most certainly aren't anywhere near home. They're in Vegas. They’re riding all kinds of highs.

 

Romeo is a good enough quick release. 

 

But not nearly enough. 

 

Rachel is so high, on coke and on success, so ecstatic, she needs  _ more _ . 

 

"Romeo," she sing-songs up the stairs, wandering the halls of the labyrinth they've all scattered across, doors to rooms that all look the same. She stumbles over empty bottles and long limbs of sleeping models in executives’ arms. The tips of Rachel's fingers trace invisible lines across indistinguishable walls until they find a doorknob. Rachel giggles to herself, walking into complete darkness. 

 

"Hey Romeo, we're not done yet," she chimes, tugging her dress off in one swift motion and tossing it towards the bed. 

 

The bedside lamp flicks on. 

 

From under thin sheets, Quinn's face emerges.

 

They blink at each other in the half-light. 

 

"What the hell, Goldberg?"

 

Quinn's voice is raspy, her hair standing in four different directions. The woman's eyebrows shoot up her forehead as her eyes focus on Rachel in nothing but underwear. "And what do you think you're doing?" 

 

Disoriented, Rachel takes a step back, her back hitting the wall. She laughs. "You're not Romeo!"

 

"No, I most certainly am not," Quinn replies, one eyebrow reaching higher heights than the other. 

 

"What are  _ you _ doing?" Rachel echoes, and Quinn blushes, averting her eyes. It confuses Rachel. 

 

Before her face can mirror Quinn's, Rachel continues, "Were you napping? You know that there's a party, right? Our party."

 

There is a definite red tint to Quinn’s cheeks, visible under smudged makeup, and the sudden realisation that Quinn thought Rachel had noticed her staring and it's making Quinn King _ blush _ sends shivers down Rachel's spine. 

 

She's pretty sure can see the blood thrumming under Quinn's skin. And Rachel's own feels on fire. This is a whole new high.

 

.

 

Quinn mumbles something about being older and just resting her eyes for a moment, the party being over anyways, but the words swim aimlessly through air, thick with tension. The dim light throws shadows across Rachel's bare stomach, soft curves and smooth skin, so much skin. Quinn's head is spinning, half asleep, half drunk, half losing her mind over some  _ skin _ . She wants to pinch herself. Or punch herself. Or...

 

Rachel is still leaning against the wall like that, hips pushed away from it slightly, just her shoulders touching the wall and it's doing _ something _ to Quinn's brain. She'll just blame the alcohol. For now.

 

A grin flickers across Rachel's face, black eyes lighting up momentarily. A devious smile.

 

"What," Rachel slurs, "has Quinn King never seen a woman in her underwear before? Watch your jaw."

 

This, this has Quinn swallowing, hard. And, as if on cue, her jaw clenches and unclenches as she's searching for words. "What do you think you're doing," she mutters a second time, that's all she can come up with faced with this much Rachel, apparently.

 

The woman pushes herself away from the wall, approaches the bed. Quinn instinctively jerks backwards, sitting up fully against the headboard. 

 

"I don't know, Quinn," she shrugs, and it's all Rachel, all skin and all innocence combined into one force of nature making her unstoppable way towards Quinn, who has lost all ability to form words. "What  _ am _ I doing?" Rachel muses, genuine wonder in her eyes, and sits. "And why is this freaking you out so much?"

 

It's a valid question. Quinn has seen Rachel change before, has never been bothered by others' nudity in general. Why is her blood boiling right now? It's just, Rachel is perched on the edge of this bed in nothing but underwear. She wants to deny it all. She can't. 

 

.

 

It's not something Rachel thinks about a lot, her body. Her body having an effect on people can be useful, but she's never really cared too much about exposing it with that intention. This, however, feels different. Quinn, looking at her like this — different.

 

Heat flashes across Rachel's chest at the thought that Quinn is quite literally speechless. And they're drunk, she's high, in so many different ways. There isn't much room for reason in Rachel's foggy mind. Not when Quinn looks disheveled and thrown, in a hotel room bed in Vegas. 

 

It has Rachel thinking back to the way Quinn had been eyeing her and Romeo all night. 

 

Something between them sizzles and starts, like raw wire-ends touching. 

 

Rachel basks in the eye contact. This, she thinks, might be just the right amount of release for the way the whole night has charged her with feelings. This might just be enough to explode, to light all of Vegas on fire.

 

Her heart is beating out of her chest. Wordlessly, she crawls over white sheets, Quinn's body heat radiating from beneath them. Without second (or first) thoughts, she straddles Quinn's lap. And Quinn isn't breathing.

 

.

 

Hands move on their own accord to where Quinn thinks it's safest — pushing at Rachel's thighs. Quinn clears her throat soundly. Her fingers curl into muscle, and if she's honest, this is not pushing Rachel's body away. Just holding on for dear life. 

 

"Rachel," she manages to say with something too shaky to be protest in her voice, "you're coked out of your fucking mind, this is ridiculous." And it is. Ridiculous. 

 

So ridiculous. 

 

The way Quinn's hands grip harder, the way Rachel's wild eyes grow wilder. 

 

Quinn knows what's happening and can't do anything about it the moment she sees Rachel's hands disappear behind Rachel's own back. The bra falls against Quinn. 

 

She gasps. 

 

Rachel won't stop grinning.

 

.

 

Quinn's eyes flicker down to Rachel's chest and Rachel  _ feels _ it. There is air on her bare skin, and then absolutely no air, where Quinn's gaze touches puckering flesh.

 

"I love you like this," Rachel hears herself stating bluntly, cutting through the small space between them like an arrow twirling its way towards a wildly beating heart. 

 

She observes Quinn's face through a haze of highs and neon lights reflecting through the window. Where else would this happen, if not in Vegas? 

 

.

 

The words slam right through Quinn's chest.  _ I love you like this _ . She feels devoid of control in the most exhilarating way. This part of her, this weakness, and no judgement. No fighting it. Just love, burning in the back of her throat. Like this. 

 

When Rachel leans in to kiss her, Quinn's hands finally relax. She must have left little half moons all over Rachel's legs. Her stomach flips. Lips brush lips. Rachel's hands are on hers now, pulling them up Rachel's sides. And all over her. Quinn groans into the soft kiss and it turns less soft in response. But soft skin is beneath her palms, soft smell all around her, so opening her mouth and sliding a rough tongue against Rachel's feels like the only way to keep herself from combusting.

 

.

 

The sounds coming from Quinn are too much. And still, Rachel needs, wants, aches to coax every last one of them from Quinn's soft, soft lips. 

 

She feels very naked now, guiding Quinn's hands to her chest, and when they start roaming with more intention and without her direction, Rachel starts pulling at the shoulders of Quinn's jumpsuit. This feels like a dream, Rachel thinks for a second. This feels like fantasy. 

 

.

 

The jumpsuit was a bad choice, Quinn decides, when Rachel's hips start grinding down on her and she's barely got the top half of the thing off. But then Rachel's hand disappears between them and rubs her over the fabric, and Quinn is almost grateful. 

 

She would've come in a matter of seconds if it wasn't for the barrier of her uncomfortable clothes, and that - that is ridiculous.

 

.

 

Quinn  _ whimpers _ . 

 

Rachel groans. 

 

Bites at the tendons straining on Quinn's neck. With a wet sound, Rachel detaches herself momentarily to move down the bed. Quinn, all messy hair and pupils almost as blown as Rachel's own, looks positively wild. 

 

.

 

It knocks all the remaining air from Quinn's lungs when Rachel grabs her under the knees and pulls Quinn's whole body into a starfish. 

 

Her jumpsuit finally comes off, and so does her underwear. Quinn doesn't remember the last time she's been this completely bare with another person.

 

.

 

Rachel's breath comes out in erratic huffs. She runs her hands up the lengths of Quinn's legs, revels in the sensations spreading all over her body as more of it comes back in contact with Quinn's. 

 

.

 

Skin on skin on skin. Quinn's back arches involuntarily, every part of her crooning towards Rachel.

 

.

 

Neon lights flicker, once. Rachel’s entire body on Quinn’s. The whole city is in shock, for the fraction of a second. And Rachel twists her hips, leg between legs between hers. A rush of electricity. A million short circuits. Two sets of pupils, impossibly blown.

 

.

  
  
  
  



End file.
